34.
Long did they wait; at length the tidings came
That through a lone and unfrequented way,
Soon would Anselmo, snch the murderer’s name,
Pass on his journey home, an easy prey.
“Go,” said the father, “meet him in the wood!”
And young Gualberto went, and laid in wait for blood.
35.
When BOW the youth was at the forest shade
Arrived, it drew toward the close of day;
Anselmo haply might be long delay’d,
And he, already wearied with his way,
Beneath an ancient oak his limbs reclined,
And thoughts of near revenge alone possess’d his mind.
36.
Slow sunk the glorious sun; a roseate light
Spread o’er the forest from his lingering rays;
The glowing clouds upon Gualberto’s sight
Soften’d in shade,..he could not chuse but gaze;
And now a placid greyness clad the heaven,
Save where the west retain’d the last green light of even.
37.
Cool breathed the grateful air, and fresher now
The fragrance of the autumnal leaves arose;
The pissing gale scarce moved the o’erhanging bough,
And not a sound disturb’d the deep repose.
Save when a falling leaf came fluttering by,
(let’s stream that murmur’d quietly.
38.
Is there who has not felt the deep delight,
The hush of soul, that scenes like these impart?
The heart they will not soften is not right,
And young Gualberto was not hard of heart.
Yet sure he thinks revenge becomes him well,
When from a neighbouring church he heard the vesper-bell.
39.
The Romanist who hears that vesper-bell,
Howe’er employ’d, must send a prayer to Heaven.
In foreign lands I liked the custom well,
For with the calm and sober thoughts of even
It well accords; and wert thou journeying there,
It would not hurt thee, George, to join that vesper prayer.
40.
Gualberto had been duly taught to hold
All pious customs with religious care;
And,..for the young man’s feelings were not cold,
He never yet had miss’d his vesper-prayer.
But strange misgivings now his heart invade,
And when the vesper-bell had ceased he had not pray’d.
41.
And wherefore was it that he had not pray’d?
The sudden doubt arose within his mind,
And many a former precept then he weigh’d,
The words of Him who died to save mankind;
How ‘t was the meek who should inherit Heaven,
And man must man forgive, if he would be forgiven.
42.
Troubled at heart, almost he felt a hope,
That yet some chance his victim might delay.
So as he mused adown the neighbouring slope
He saw a lonely traveller on his way;
And now he knows the man so much abhorr’d,..
His holier thoughts are gone, he bares the murderous sword.
43.
“The house of Valdespesa gives the blow I
Go, and our vengeance to our kinsman tell!”..
Despair and terror seized the unarm’d foe,
And prostrate at the young man’s knees he fell,
And stopt his hand and cried, “Oh, do not take
A wretched sinner’s life! mercy, for Jesus’ sake!”
At that most blessed name, as at a spell,
Conscience, the power within him, smote his heart.
His hand, for murder raised, unharming fell;
He felt cold sweat-drops on his forehead start;
A moment mute in holy horror stood,
Then cried, “ Joy, joy, my God! I have not shed his blood!”
45.
He raised Anselmo up, and bade him live,
And bless, for both preserved, that holy name:
And pray’d the astonish’d foeman to forgive
The bloody purpose led by which he came.
Then to the neighbouring church he sped away,
His over-burden’d soul before his God to lay.
46.
He ran with breathless speed,.. he reach’d the door,
With rapid throbs his feverish pulses swell;..
He came to crave for pardon, to adore
For grace vouchsafed? before the cross he fell,
And raised his swimming eyes, and thought that there
He saw the imaged Christ smile favouring on his prayer.
47.
A blest illusion! from that very night
The Monk’s austerest life devout he led;
And still he felt the enthusiast’s deep delight,
Seraphic visions floated round his head,
The joys of heaven foretasted fill’d his soul,
And still the good man’s name adorns the sainted roll.
Westbury, 1799.
THE MARCH TO MOSCOW.
1.
THE Emperor Nap he would set off
On a summer excursion to Moscow;
The fields were green, and the sky was blue, Morbleu! Parbleu!
What a pleasant excursion to Moscow!
2.
Four hundred thousand men and more
Must go with him to Moscow:
There were Marshals by the dozen,
And Dukes by the score;
Princes a few, and Kings one or two;
While the fields are so green, and the sky so blue, Morbleu! Parbleu!
What a pleasant excursion to Moscow!
3.
There was Junot and Augereau,
Heigh-ho for Moscow!
Dombrowsky and Poniatowsky,
Marshal Ney, lack-a-day!
General Rapp and the Emperor Nap;
Nothing would do
While the fields were so green, and the sky so blue,
Morbleu! Parbleu!
Nothing would do
For the whole of this crew,
But they must be marching to Moscow.
4.
The Emperor Nap he talk’d so big
That he frighten’d Mr. Roscoe.
John Bull, he cries, if you’ll be wise,
Ask the Emperor Nap if he will please
To grant you peace upon your knees,
Because he is going to Moscow!
He’ll make all the Poles come out of their holes,
And beat the Russians and eat the Prussians,
For the fields are green, and the sky is blue,
Morbleu! Parbleu!
And he’ll certainly march to Moscow!
5.
And Counsellor Brougham was all in a fume
At the thought of the march to Moscow:
The Russians, he said, they were undone,
And the great Fee-Faw-Fum
Would presently come
With a hop, step, and jump unto London.
For as for his conquering Russia,
However some persons might scoff it,
Do it he could, and do it he would,
And from doing it nothing would come but good,
And nothing could call him off it.
Mr. Jeffrey said so, who must certainly know,
For he was the Edinburgh Prophet.
They all of them knew Mr. Jeffrey’s Review,
Which with Holy Writ ought to be reckon’d:
It was through thick and thin to its party true;
Its back was buff, and its sides were blue;
Morbleu! Parbleu!
It served them for Law and for Gospel too.
6.
But the Russians stoutly they turned-to
Upon t
he road to Moscow.
Nap had to fight his way all through;
They could fight, though they could not parlez-vous,
But the fields were green, and the sky was blue,
Morbleu! Parbleu!
And so he got to Moscow.
7.
He found the place too warm for him,
For they set fire to Moscow.
To get there had cost him much ado,
And then no better course he knew,
While the fields were green, and the sky was blue
Morbleu! Parbleu!
But to march back again from Moscow.
8.
The Russians they stuck close to him
All on the road from Moscow.
There was Tormazow and Jemalow
And all the others that end in ow;
Milarodovifceh and Jaladovitch
And Karatschkowitch,
And all the others that end in itch;
Schamscheff, Souchosaneff,
And Schepaleff,
And all the others that end in eff;
Wasiltschikoff, Kostomaroff,
And Tchoglokofii
And all the others that end in off;
Rajeffsky and Novereffsky
And Rieffsky,
And all the others that end in effsky;
Oscharoffsky and Rostoffsky,
And all the others that end in offsky;
And Platoff he play’d them off,
And Shouvaloff he shovell’d them off,
And Markoff he mark’d them off,
And Krosnoff he cross’d them off,
And Tuchkoff he touch’d them off,
And Boroskoff he bored them off,
And Kutousoff he cut them off,
And Parenzoff he pared them off,
And Worronzoff he worried them off,
And Doctoroff he doctor’d them off,
And Rodionoff he flogg’d them off.
And last of all an Admiral came,
A terrible man with a terrible name,
A name which you all know by sight very well;
But which no one can speak, and no one can spell.
They stuck close to Nap with all their might,
They were on the left and on the right,
Behind and before, and by day and by night,
He would rather parlez-vous than fight;
But he look’d white and he look’d blue,
Morbleu! Parbleu!
When parlez-vous no more would do,
For they remember’d Moscow.
9.
And then came on the frost and snow
All on the road from Moscow.
The wind and the weather he found in that hour
Cared nothing for him nor for all his power;
For him who, while Europe crouch’d under his rod,
Put his trust in his Fortune, and not in his God.
Worse and worse every day the elements grew,
The fields were so white and the sky so blue,
Sacrebleu! Ventrebleu!
What a horrible journey from Moscow.
10.
What then thought the Emperor Nap
Upon the road from Moscow?
Why, I ween he thought it small delight
To fight all day, and to freeze all night:
And he was besides in a very great fright,
For a whole skin he liked to be in;
And so, not knowing what else to do,
When the fields were so white and the sky so blue,
Morbleu! Parbleu!
He stole away, I tell you true,
Upon the road from Moscow.
‘T is myself, quoth he, I must mind most;
So the Devil may take the hindmost.
11.
Too cold upon the road was he,
Too hot had he been at Moscow;
But colder and hotter he may be,
For the grave is colder than Moscovy:
And a place there is to be kept in view,
Where the fire is red and the brimstone blue,
Morbleu! Parbleu!
Which he must go to,
If the Pope say true.
If he does not in time look about him;
Where his namesake almost
He may have for his Host,
He has reckon’d too long without him,
If that host get him in Purgatory,
He won’t leave him there alone with his glory;
But there he must stay for a very long day,
For from thence there is no stealing away
As there was on the road from Moscow.
Keswick, 1813.
BROUGH BELLS.
ONE day to Helbeek I had stroll’d
Among the Crossfell hills,
And resting in its rocky grove
Sat listening to the rills;
The while to their sweet undersong
The birds sang blithe around,
And the soft west wind awoke the wood
To an intermitting sound.
Louder or fainter as it rose,
Or died away, was borne
The harmony of merry bells,
From Brough that pleasant morn.
“Why are the merry bells of Brough,
My friend, so few?” said I,
“They disappoint the expectant ear,
Which they should gratify.
“One, two, three, four; one, two, three, four-
‘T is still one, two, three, four,
Mellow and silvery are the tones;
But I wish the bells were more!”
“What! art thou critical? “ quoth he;
“Eschew that heart’s disease
That seeketh for displeasure where
The intent hath been to please.
“By those four bells there hangs a tale,
Which being told, Ï guess,
Will make thee hear their scarty ‘peal
With proper thankfulness.
“Not by the Cliffords were they given,
Nor by the Tuftons’ line;
Thou hearest in that peal the erune
Of old John Brunskill’s kine.
On Stanemore’s side one summer eve,
John Brunskill sate to see
His herds in yonder Borrodale
Come winding up the lea
“Behind them on the lowland’s verge,
In the evening light serene;
Brough’s silent tower, then newly built
By Blenkinsop, was seen.
“Slowly they came in long array,
With loitering pace at will;
At times a low from them was heard,
Far off, for all still.
“The hills return’d that lonely sound
Upon the tranquil air;
The only sound it was, which then
Awoke the echoes there.
“‘Thou hear’st that lordly Bull of mine,
Neighbour,’ quoth Brunskill then;
‘How loudly to the hills be crunes,
That crune to him again
“‘Thinkest thou if yon whole herd at once
Their voices should combine,
Were they at Brough, that we might not
Hear plainly from this upland spot
That craning of the kine?’
“‘That were a crune, indeed,’ replied
His comrade, ‘ which, I ween,
Might at the Spital well be heard,
And in all dales between.
“‘Up Mallerstang to Eden’s springs,
The eastern wind upon its wings
The mighty voice would bear;
And Appleby would hear the sound,
Methinks, when skies are fair.’
“‘Then shall the herd,’ John Brunskill cried,
‘From yon dumb steeple crune,
And thou and I, on this hill-side,
Will listen to their tune.
“‘So while
the merry Bells of Brough,
For many an age ring on,
John Brunskill will remember’d be,
When he is dead and gone;
“‘As one who in his latter years,
Contented with enough,
Gave freely what he well could spare
To buy the Bells of Brough.’
“Thus it hath proved: three hundred years
Since then have past away,
And Brunskill’s is a living name
Among us to this day.”
“More pleasure,” I replied, “shall I
From this time forth partake,
When I remember Helbeck woods,
For old John Brunskills sake.
“He knew how wholesome it would be,
Among these wild wide fells,
And upland vales, to catch, at times,
The sound of Christian bells;
“What feelings and what impulses
Their cadence might convey,
To herdsman or to shepherd boy,
Whiling in indolent employ
The solitary day;
“That when his brethren were convened
To meet for social prayer,
He too, admonish’d by the call
In spirit might be there.
“Or when a glad thanksgiving sound,
Upon the winds of Heaven,
Was sent to speak a Nation’s joy,
For some great blessing given —
“For victory by sea or land,
And happy peace at length;
Peace by his country’s valour won,
And ‘stablish’d by her strength;
“When such exultant peals were borne
Upon the mountain air,
The sound should stir his bloody and give
An English impulse there,”’
Such thoughts were in the old man’s mind,
Complete Poetical Works of Robert Southey Page 124